


Stars

by brokencasbutt67



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Concerned Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Hugs, Hurt, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Running Away, St James's Park (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25914694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokencasbutt67/pseuds/brokencasbutt67
Summary: This was commissioned.Also, the "letter" from Aziraphale uses lyrics from the song Stars by Skillet (which imho is an Aziraphale x Crowley song)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

The effects of the failed Armageddon are going to be felt for millennia to come, especially for Aziraphale and Crowley and their respective head offices. They know that much already, and their punishments will be nothing short of barbaric, to say the least. Crowley isn’t entirely sure that he wants to think about the punishment - it’ll take a _real_ miracle to survive anything that Heaven or Hell could think of. 

As the dust and the rubble settle to the ground that surrounds Tadfield Airbase, the warring thoughts inside of the demon’s head completely drown out Mr Young’s spluttering old car and the calls to Adam.

Aziraphale turns to face Crowley, he looks as though he has something to say but Crowley is sinking further into his own thoughts; like a car sinking in water, he quickly gets submerged in his thoughts. 

He’s pulled back to the current moment by Aziraphale, more specifically the angel talking to him. 

“That’s not... really his father, is it?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley looks at the situation that surrounds them for a few moments. He doesn’t care about any humans seeing his eyes anymore. He doesn’t care about anything anymore, if he’s honest with himself. He ponders a response to Aziraphale’s query for a few moments.

“It is _now_ … and it always was” Crowley says, though he’s staring off into the distance.

“He did it!” He adds, a small smile gracing his face for a brief second. It vanishes just as quickly though; Crowley won’t let anyone see anything that could be construed as a potential weakness.

As everyone left the chaos, leaving pair alone on the ruined concrete of Tadfield Airbase, Crowley knows that the punishment that they would face would be a bad one. He’s seen the punishments that Heaven can give, and while he hasn’t specifically seen Hell’s punishment, he knows that it’s likely equally brutal, if not worse.

_The switch_ was Aziraphale’s idea. He’d seen it in some movie, _or something like that_. Crowley wasn’t entirely listening when Aziraphale told him, though he didn’t need to. The plan itself is genius – so long as they could pull it off successfully. If not, their punishments would definitely be a whole lot worse. Crowley can only thank his lucky stars that he’s paid so much attention to Aziraphale throughout the years.

* * *

It was terrifying, for Crowley, to face Gabriel, Uriel, and the rest of the angels that he had once called family, like this. He’s been in Heaven, of course he has, but that was many millennia ago and he’s actively avoided anything Heavenly related since, wanting nothing more than to shield himself from that part of his past.

He wants to throw the fire at the other angels, to make them suffer how they’re making _Aziraphale_ suffer – he can’t though, Heaven will know it’s Crowley and the plan will be over. It’ll make its way down to Hell, Aziraphale’s punishment will exacerbate.

So, as he steps forward into the flames, he only musters a smirk onto his face. It’s enough though, the flames engulfing him like water is enough of a warning for the angels to know that Aziraphale is not to be messed with anymore.

Crowley can only hope that Aziraphale does an equally good job. It _should_ save both of their asses, or postpone it for long enough that they can think of a better plan for the future.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale and Crowley are sitting in the park at their usual bench. Their hands meet, to finish the transition back to their normal selves as time pauses. There’s a spark in Aziraphale’s chest when the demon’s hand meets his own. _It feels like coming home after a long time away._

The transition completes, and time around them resumes as normal. They agree to the Ritz, as they often do, and that’s one thing crossed off of the list that fills Crowley’s mind.

Sitting opposite each other, as they have so frequently done throughout the ages, they’re free from the grips of Heaven and Hell alike, _for now at least_. They don’t have to hide that they’re spending this time with each other.

A look of something akin to love rests on Aziraphale’s face – if Crowley notices it, he says nothing. But everyone around them notices it immediately. The waiters notice the shift in the pair’s interactions and the change in the atmosphere that surrounds the pair. Their waiter is even inclined to give congratulatory champagne, though he doesn’t want to assume anything.

Crowley returns to his apartment later that evening, Aziraphale probably returns to his bookshop. But Crowley isn’t bothered about that. He’s looking around the apartment that he’s called home for so long, with a newfound distaste. He doesn’t _want_ to live here anymore; not now he doesn’t have a chance of calling Aziraphale his own.

After the punishments and the trials have completed, Crowley is lost. He doesn’t know what to do, or where to go. No longer is he held back by the chains of Hell’s iron tight grip. He can do anything he wants to do within the entire universe; he isn’t forced to make anyone’s life a misery, not anymore.

But he doesn’t know _what_ to do with his time. He doesn’t want to see Aziraphale, not at the moment. It’s too soon, especially given their freedom and the tendency of Heaven and Hell to follow them around.

The main reason, though, that Crowley won’t visit Aziraphale is because he can’t trust himself not to spill his feelings after so long of holding them back with a straw dam.

For the first few days, Crowley catches up on some long overdue sleep. 72 hours of uninterrupted slumber _should_ make him have at least some energy, yet when he wakes, he only feels lethargic. He’s lost all energy to do anything, and at first, he suspects it’s something lingering from the punishments, though he knows deep down that he’s hurting, and he’s heart broken.

He doesn’t even want to go to the Ritz, that’s how he knows that he’s far from okay. He hasn’t left his apartment in days. The plants are slowly losing their colour, they’ll begin to wilt and die soon. _He’s slacking._

His life transforms from spending days with Aziraphale in the Ritz to sleeping alone in a dark and empty room. He’s not happy with the progression, but he won’t let himself have _those_ feelings for the angel, not anymore.

It’s late on a stormy night when Crowley decides to take action. He wants nothing more than to cuddle with Aziraphale – but he can’t. So, he pulls his mobile phone over – Anathema and Newt were insistent that he and Aziraphale got them for staying connected, more so following the punishments.

He looks up places he could move to, more specifically, places on Earth that he can move to; anywhere so long as he doesn’t have to be so close to Aziraphale any longer.

He finds a small village – plenty of distance from Aziraphale and the rest of the gang, yet not too far in case Aziraphale calls him up, though Crowley doesn’t hold out much hope for _that_ happening.

Crowley hates himself for doing this, for leaving his angel behind; trying to move on with his life without Aziraphale with him, but he can’t carry on as he is: moping and pining over the angel that doesn’t return his love.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes just over a month for Crowley to purchase the cottage. He pays the entire amount in cash up front, and gets the keys the very next day. Slowly, he begins to pack his possessions and get his current apartment up on the market. Sure, it hurts as he packs his bag into the car, but as he drives away from London, on a cold and rainy night, he feels some relief that he’s no longer going to be hurting.

He doesn’t tell Aziraphale that he’s leaving; he doesn’t tell Anathema and Newt that he’s leaving. Hell, he doesn’t even tell Shadwell and Tracey that he’s leaving. No one knows of Crowley’s departure, and he likes it that way. Deep down, he knows that he shouldn’t just up and leave like _this,_ but if anyone knew, they’d drag him back to his suffering. So, no one knows as he leaves in the dead of night, under the cover of moonlight, hoping never to be seen by the people he knows.

Aziraphale doesn’t pick up on the demon’s absence for a few weeks. It’s not uncommon for him and Crowley to go without speaking for a while, especially now Armageddon has been averted. In fact, more the opposite.

Sure, they did still meet up and go to the Ritz though that has become a rarity since Crowley seized the opportunity to catch up on millennia of lost sleep. The newfound freedom allows him to waste days away and not be pestered by Hell about the newest craze that they assume he created.

Crowley does usually warn Aziraphale when he plans to sleep for an abnormally long amount of time though, and that’s what’s worrying the angel.

After nearly four months with no communication, concerned is an understatement for Aziraphale. He knows of the demon’s fondness for sleeping entirely uninterrupted, though he doesn’t often sleep for _this_ long without at least informing Aziraphale first.

To hear nothing after so long, is more than concerning for Aziraphale. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s tried calling the demon’s flat, multiple times, and each time, he was sent straight to voicemail. He’s sent a letter and received nothing back. He’s stuck.

The last option is to physically go over and find the demon, and that involves interacting with people – something that Aziraphale _really_ doesn’t want to do. But to see Crowley again, to make sure that the demon is safe, unharmed, and happy, Aziraphale will do _anything_.

So that’s what he does. He grabs a cab from his bookshop to the block of flats. His heart is pounding away: a combination of anxiety around the demon’s welfare; an overwhelming, undeniable excitement about seeing the demon again. There’s something else too, though, something that Aziraphale can’t fully place within himself.

_Love._


	4. Chapter 4

Stepping out of the cab, Aziraphale adjusts his clothing as he so frequently does, looking up to the high-rise block. The demon’s flat is somewhere near the top, if Aziraphale remembers correctly.

He steps into the elevator, cursing Heaven that he has no miracles to speed the journey up to the top of the building.

Looking around the small metallic box, Aziraphale grimaces at the questionable fluids that cover the floor. He shifts into the cleanest corner, though clean is a loose term. There are no mysterious fluids, no trash, and no cigarette butts like there are covering the rest of the floor of the elevator. Aziraphale can’t help but question _how_ Crowley can live in this squalor comfortably.

It feels like an eternity until the doors open, though it’s more likely to be a few minutes at most. He steps out, looking left and right to try and remember which side held Crowley’s flat, he hasn’t been here for a long time.

One side has a _for sale_ sign, the other side looks to be in a state of disrepair with the door numbers hanging off and the bottom of the door splintering from where the door appears to have been kicked. The police tape doesn’t help calm Aziraphale’s anxiety either.

He’s not sure which is worse: the fact that Crowley may have left or that something could’ve happened to the demon and Aziraphale hadn’t realised. He walks towards the damaged flat, unsure of whether he should just walk in or not. He nudges the remains of the door, and it opens. This isn’t Crowley’s flat. He’s certain on that much: drug paraphernalia and clothing litters every surface in the flat, both of which are unlike Crowley.

_That means Crowley has left._

That realisation hurts Aziraphale more than anything that Heaven or Hell could ever do to him: Crowley left London, left _him,_ and didn’t say anything. Aziraphale doesn’t even know _when_ Crowley left.

It’s been so long since they spoke, he doesn’t want to think about the hurt the demon must’ve been feeling to just up and disappear how he has. He nudges the flat door open, and it’s exactly how it was the last time Aziraphale was here, minus a few pieces of furniture. The plants still fill the hallways, though they’re wilting and dying; the dark interior remains the same, with a layer of dust covering the surfaces that were usually pristine.

It’s silent, and that’s what hurts Aziraphale the most, there’s always been at least _some_ noise in the flat, whether it was background noise from the television, or Queen playing somewhere in the maze of rooms.

After a few minutes of lingering in the doorway, Aziraphale decides to leave. He enters the elevator, no longer caring about whatever substances he stands in. He reaches the bottom, hails a cab, and returns to the bookshop. He locks up and goes upstairs, no longer caring about opening up for the day, or even going to the Ritz.

He sits on the edge of his bed, reminiscing to the night after Armageddon, when he and Crowley shared a bed in the demon’s flat. He’s not sure what he feels, though he suspects that it’s heartbreak. He’s only ever heard of it in literature though, so he can’t truly be certain that is what he’s feeling.

Aziraphale looks over to the fridge in the kitchen, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t even want to eat. He curls up in his bed, holding a cushion in his arms. Nothing will compare to the night that he and Crowley shared a bed, curled around each other, talking late into the night.

Sleep eventually finds Aziraphale. It’s the first time in years that he’s slept, and he’s not sure if he can get used to it. But it takes his mind off of the demon that’s stolen his heart.

And for now, at least, that’s enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley can sense the angel longing for him. He’s not sure when it started, but he can feel it. It lingers in his bones, like the cold on a winter’s morning. He wants to return to the angel, to wrap him up and hold him in his arms for the rest of time.

But he can’t go back now. He’s come so far, and it’s allowing him to move on from the angel. He has a small cottage, a garden and for now, at least, he doesn’t need anything else. Sure, he would like to go to the Ritz with Aziraphale for lunch or afternoon tea, he wants to walk around St James’ Park again and shout at the ducks.

He knows, though, that if he does that, he’d only go back into that life and he doesn’t want that anymore, he doesn’t want to be watching Aziraphale from a distance wishing that Aziraphale would realise just how _pathetic_ Crowley is. He just wants to live out the rest of eternity somewhere quiet – he’s had enough chaos and instability prior to Armageddon that he’s almost certain that anymore will kill him off. _Well not literally, he can’t die because of stress._

The television on the wall isn’t loud enough to drown out the voice in his head, reminding him that the angel is waiting for him back in London, in the flat above the bookshop that Crowley has visited so frequently. He knows that Aziraphale is there, waiting for Crowley.

But he won’t go back. Crowley has been tempted, a number of times, to go back and give into his desires. He’s showing restraint that he didn’t know possible, in not returning to Aziraphale and his old life.

He thinks about Aziraphale every day, he wonders if things would be different if Crowley was still in London with Aziraphale. _Would he tell the angel how he feels? Would they live together? Would Aziraphale feel the same?_

Thoughts play on a loop in Crowley’s mind, like some sick joke, taunting him that he’s alone in his feelings for the angel, that he’ll never live the life of his dreams with Aziraphale.

Whenever he feels the angel longing for him, which is happening more and more frequently as time progresses, he doesn’t know what to do. He wants to go back to London, to go and visit the angel that lights up his life, he wants to go to the Ritz with Aziraphale, and curl up with him on the sofa and watch a movie, or a television series.

But he doesn’t do that, it’s as though he tortures himself instead. He either goes into his garden to waste away a few hours, or he drinks bottles of wine, enough that _should_ knock him for six. Being a demon, though, the effects of the wine are reduced. It only reminds him of how much he misses Aziraphale. 

His garden is coming along tremendously. The vegetable patch is regularly getting new vegetables growing, though there are no miracles involved. The vegetables are often given to his neighbours, he has no reason to eat them for himself after all.

There are a few flowers dotted around the perimeter of the cottage – mostly flowers from foreign countries that shouldn’t grow as well as they do here in England. The gardening allows him to take his mind off of Aziraphale – whenever he feels himself getting lost in the thoughts, Crowley goes out into his garden and tends to his plants until the angel has gone from his mind. It's not a healthy mindset, but it works, and that’s enough for Crowley.

It's almost a daily occurrence that he thinks about Aziraphale, if not more common. It’s been like this for a while, long before Armageddon – if Crowley is totally honest with himself. He’s loved Aziraphale for so long that he can’t remember a time where he didn’t. Crowley knows, though, that his feelings won’t be fading any time soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Aziraphale’s search for Crowley has been entirely fruitless so far. He has called Shadwell and Tracey; he’s called Newt and Anathema; hell, he’s even tried the Dowling’s mansion, in the hopes that someone would have at least heard from the demon. They haven’t – and when he tries the Dowlings, he only gets the threat of agents being sent to kill him, instead of an answer to his _rather simple question_.

Of course, Aziraphale’s first thoughts are that Heaven or Hell have gotten to Crowley. But the _for sale_ sign suggests something else has happened, it suggests that Crowley has _chosen_ to leave, entirely of his own accord.

Aziraphale isn’t sure he wants to believe that either though. Crowley wouldn’t just leave _him_ , not like this and especially not after how much they’ve been through together. _Surely not._

Aziraphale can’t even use a miracle to locate Crowley. Following their failed punishments, Crowley used one of his final demonic miracles to make him essentially invisible to _everyone_ – which includes Aziraphale.

The angel can only hope that Crowley returns to him. Deep down, Aziraphale knows though, that Crowley probably won’t return, that the demon chose to leave, and he has no reason to return to London.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley quite likes his new home. He’s away from the bustle of London, he’s in a quiet village, a few hundred miles away from the capital. He’s made friends with his neighbours, and he quickly became a beloved member of the community. His garden provides the neighbours with some fresh vegetables and fruit, his music gives some of the older members happy memories of a different time. So yeah, Crowley’s pretty happy where he is.

Sure, he still misses Aziraphale – every single day. It kills Crowley when he thinks about how he just vanished in the middle of the night, with nothing but a thought of the angel. He wants nothing more than to move the angel into his house and spend the rest of their days together. He won’t though, he won’t let himself get hurt any longer.

He still aches for the angel, and he feels the angel longing for him in return. But Crowley can’t return, he _won’t_ return.

\--

It was purely a coincidence that Aziraphale saw Crowley’s car. He was out with Newt, Anathema, and the Them – they were heading out for a beach date, in the hopes of taking Aziraphale’s mind away from Crowley’s unexpected departure.

The Bentley was speeding down the motorway in the opposite direction.

Aziraphale knew immediately that it was Crowley – who else would have a car so _old,_ especially this year. No one else saw it – though mostly they were too occupied with other things to be paying attention to the other side of the road. Aziraphale knew though, he hadn’t imagined seeing Crowley.

It warms his heart to see the car that he holds so fondly in his heart. His heart aches too though, that Crowley has been so close to him, and yet they’re still so far apart. Aziraphale doesn’t pay any attention to the remainder of the car journey. He stares out of the window, entirely expressionless. His heart aches, and he’s not sure how much longer he can carry on like this.

Anathema immediately notices the change in Aziraphale’s demeanour. She sees the way the previously perky angel deflates almost, resting his head against the window with a sad, far-away look in his eyes. She doesn’t mention it though, she doesn’t tell Newt that she’s seen how the angel is hurting – Newt doesn’t fully understand the complex relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, not that either of the pair understand it either.


	8. Chapter 8

When Crowley sees the angel’s so recognisable coat only a few hundred meters away from his garden, he curses to the Heavens above that the angel has found him, after so much time being away. Crowley knows, deep down, that this was going to happen. It was _inevitable_. He has known, deep down, that Aziraphale would’ve eventually found him, it doesn’t mean that it fills Crowley with hope though.

He’s only just stepped out into his garden when he sees the angel in the opposite direction, Crowley’s at least grateful that Aziraphale isn’t walking _towards him_. Crowley immediately spins on the spot, darting back into a cottage with a slam of the door following.

He realises that Aziraphale probably heard _that,_ but he doesn’t care. He’s tempted to close his curtains and hide somewhere that the angel won’t see him, but he knows that no matter what he does, Aziraphale has found him. He can’t hide away forever.

He moves to his kitchen, deciding to make himself some lunch and try to take his mind off of Aziraphale. He hears a slight knock at the door, as though Aziraphale is scared. He hears the angel move away from the door for a brief moment before knocking properly. _Curse my damn hearing._

After a moment, Crowley walks to the door with the sandwich in his hand, occasionally taking a bite of it. He doesn’t want Aziraphale to think that Crowley is hiding from him, so he _tries_ to act as though he hadn’t been expecting the angel.

He swings the door open, brushing his hair back. _Best perk of being away from London, his hair is flowing freely without any weird looks from strangers questioning his gender._ Before Crowley can breathe out a word, Aziraphale is in his arms. He’s almost being crushed in the angel’s arms, but he’s not complaining.

_He will be later though, when Aziraphale has returned home to London and Crowley is alone again. The feeling of being held like this only leaves an ache for more, Crowley has only experienced it once, and funnily enough it was with Aziraphale. He’s shielded himself for so long because the ache never fades._

Aziraphale doesn’t speak; Crowley doesn’t know what to say. They linger, on the doorstep, in silence, for a long time without moving. Aziraphale is hugging Crowley, impossibly tightly, and Crowley is awkwardly patting Aziraphale’s back while eating his sandwich.

There are so many unspoken words: promises and commitments that have never seen the light of day, both know those are going to come out sooner, rather than later.

Eventually, Crowley forces himself to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. He knows that Aziraphale sees his eyes, beneath his shades. _Crowley can only hope that Aziraphale can’t see the love and the hurt in his eyes._

“Would you like to come in?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale nods, almost eagerly. Crowley smiles, inviting the angel in. Aziraphale turns on the spot, taking in the place that Crowley calls home.

There’s not much to suggest that Crowley lives here: no little trinkets, no knick-knacks, no photographs – though Crowley didn’t have much of that back at the flat anyway. Aziraphale frowns slightly, turning to Crowley, who funnily enough, is still stuffing his face with the sandwich he had a few minutes prior.

They move to the living room in silence. The colour scheme fits to Crowley’s personality: greys, blacks, and whites in every room. Aziraphale sits beside Crowley, almost _too close._

“Why did you leave, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks. For the briefest moment, he looks up to Crowley, though his eyes fall back down to the plush grey carpet beneath his shoes. He hears a sigh from Crowley, though it’s not a sigh of upset, or anger. It’s a sigh that tells Aziraphale that Crowley doesn’t know how to approach this subject.

“I needed to get away” Crowley eventually explains. A few minutes have passed, though it feels so much longer than has actually passed. He briefly looks to Aziraphale’s head, before looking down. _Now isn’t the time to tell him._

Crowley picks up on the angel’s nervousness almost immediately. Aziraphale shifts and the mood in the room changes.

“Crowley, my dear. I miss you so” Aziraphale starts, shifting slightly as he pulls a worn piece of paper from his pocket. Crowley’s eyes catch onto it, he can see the angel’s scrawly writing, though he can’t make any of the words out on it.

“As you know, my dear, writing isn’t my forte, I’m much more acquainted with reading. I just…” A brief sigh, and Aziraphale continues.

“I needed to tell you how I feel. Even if I leave here alone…” Aziraphale pauses, for the briefest of moments.

“I needed to tell you how I truly feel, in my heart of hearts. I can’t carry on hiding my feelings, my dear” Aziraphale gulps. He unfolds the paper with shaky hands, Crowley wants nothing more than to take hold of Aziraphale’s hands, to pull him close and kiss him gently.

“If you can hold the stars in place, you can hold my heart the same” Aziraphale starts, his eyes avoiding Crowley’s, his anxiety is almost overpowering them both.

“Whenever I fall away, whenever I start to break” Crowley watches on, captivated by the angel’s words. _He can’t even think to imagine what’s going through Aziraphale’s mind, he must be terrified._

“So here I am, holding up my heart” Aziraphale chuckles, though it’s far from comical. He’s terrified. He’s never opened himself like he is now, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to do this again. He sorely hopes that Crowley doesn’t reject him, and to an extent, Aziraphale is sure that Crowley won’t shun him. The angel is still terrified though.

“If you can calm the raging sea, you can calm the storm in me” Aziraphale’s eyes meet Crowley’s for the briefest of moments. The anxiety and the fear that fill Aziraphale’s eyes shake Crowley, deep into to his core.

“You’re never too far away, you never show up too late” Aziraphale continues, thinking back to the countless times that Crowley has saved him from an inevitable death, _and an unnecessary amount of paperwork: 1942, Bastille and even Armageddon, Crowley saved him._

“So here I am, lifting up my heart to the one who holds the stars” Aziraphale finishes. The paper is barely tossed aside before Crowley is pulling Aziraphale into his arms. There are tears, it’s not clear whether they’re from Aziraphale or Crowley. The hug is impossibly tight, they’re wrapped around each other, with no complaints.

They don’t move. They don’t need to move. It’s so long overdue, this inevitable progression in their relationship, that they’re both scared that if they do move, that it’ll all fade around them and they’ll lose each other for good. _Aziraphale has already lost Crowley once, he refuses to let it happen again._

For the briefest of moments, their eyes meet through the chaos of the world that surrounds them. It’s enough of a trigger, and they’re kissing. They’re not sure _who_ initiated it, and that doesn’t matter.


	9. Chapter 9

The day Crowley left; he knows that he made the worst decision of his life. He knows that much _now_ , at the time it made sense to run away from his problems. He’s so used to being able to escape these situations with a snap of his fingers, that running away just seemed _natural._

But with Aziraphale curled up at his side, in their new home so far away from the hustle and bustle of London, he can’t help but thank the stars that he’s able to lay here, so freely with his angel curled up at his side.

Sure, he misses being able to walk off to the Ritz with Aziraphale, but being so far from London just makes the environment so much calmer. He isn’t awoken every hour of the night to screaming and shouting on the pavement below. Crowley uses the free time to perfect some recipes, as well as experimenting with some more. Aziraphale is a willing participant in trying them all.

In fact, the quaint little village they call home is silent. _A perfect hiding spot from Heaven and Hell._


End file.
